Telemarketer Doom
by NightmareKitty
Summary: A telemarketer calls the Vasquez family (Jhonen, Nny, Zim, Dib, Gaz, Gir, Pepito and Noodle Boy) at dinner time, and they teach the evil salesman a lesson he'll never forget. Mean, but I never said I was nice.


TELEMARKETER DOOM By Nightmare Kitty  
  
Disclaimer. thingie: I don't own any JCV shtuff. Jhonen, supreme god of the universe, does. And I certainly don't own Jhonen himself. I'm just another dorky fanfic writer who has nothing better to do at 1AM.  
  
The Vasquez family was sitting down at the table for dinner, delicious skittles, tacos, pizza and other great snacks galore. Jhonen, Nny, Noodle Boy, Pepito, Dib, Gaz, Gir and Zim, all of them ready to eat a good, wholesome meal mostly sugar-filled (at Jhonen's suggestion (), were very annoyed to hear the telephone ring.  
  
"I'll get it," said Jhonen, very pissed off. "I bet it's one of those stupid telemarketers."  
  
And it was. "Hello, sir. May I speak to the man or woman in charge of the house?"  
  
Said Jhonen, "You're talking to him right now."  
  
"Okay, then. I would like to inform you of our current sale on dooky. We feature every."  
  
Jhonen, very vexed, snapped, "Sir, I don't want any of your useless crap."  
  
"Really, sir, our crap is not useless. It is the finest."  
  
Jhonen, realizing he would need help with this, called out, "Anyone want to screw with this bastard's head?"  
  
Nny eagerly jumped up from the table and took the phone from Jhonen.  
  
".Hello?" The doomed telemarketer called out.  
  
"Hello. And you must be the pile of waste that so inconsiderately interrupted our sugary meal." Nny said in his most sinister, creepy tone possible. He could sense the sweat on the salesman's brow, even though he couldn't see it.  
  
"Uh. yeah. Can I speak to the other guy again?"  
  
"Oh, there'll be no need for that, Mr., um, whoever you are."  
  
"Who are you? What have you done to the other guy?!"  
  
"The same thing I will do to you. I will rip out your innards and projectile vomit on them to show my distaste for the entire race of soulless telemarketers, and feed them to my dog."  
  
Obviously, the telemarketer was freaked. "I-is there anyone else there that I could talk to?"  
  
Figuring that he'd terrified this guy enough, Nny handed the phone to Noodle Boy.  
  
"Hello?..." The salesman seemed relieved, but this wasn't to last.  
  
"SHOVE A LOG UP YOUR ASS! MY GERBIL EATS INTERNET ADS! MY EARWAX IS THE DESCENDANT OF SATAN!" Noodle Boy ranted  
  
"Um. yeah. Will you buy our wonderful dooky?"  
  
"SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS SPONGEBO- O-O-B SQUAREPA-A-A-ANTS!"  
  
"Should I take that as a yes?"  
  
"EAT MY MOOSE, YOU SWEDISH DEMON! GO BACK TO TEXAS LIKE THE SQUIRREL YOU ARE!"  
  
"N.B., I'll take it from here," said Zim.  
  
"Is this another person of the family?" Asked the poor dooky merchant.  
  
"Yes, inferior human stinkbeast. Your Earthanoid sales techniques are far less efficient than that of the Irken Empire. Soon you will all bow before me. I AM ZIM!"  
  
"I-i-is this an alien?" The supposedly soulless telemarketer sounded confused.  
  
"No, no, let me assure you that I am a perfectly normal human wormbaby. I am NOT an alien that has come to enslave you, and I am NOT an invader from a planet soon to rule the entire galaxy."  
  
"Is there anyone else I can talk to?"  
  
"Fine, puny HYUMAN. have it YOUR way." Zim sneered and gave the phone to Pepito. "Let's see how he deals with the antichrist," he muttered.  
  
"Who is this?" Asked the solicitor, slightly annoyed by now.  
  
"Who am I? I am known by many names. The Dark Prince. The Antichrist. My mom calls me Pepito."  
  
"Well, 'Pepito,' I hope you're a fancier of fine dooky, because we've got all kinds of it."  
  
"Yes. yes. Dooky Salesman Bob. You're on my Dad's waiting list. He's very excited to meet you, an evil soul like himself. I'd say he was dying to, but it is not possible for Satan to die."  
  
"Okay, I'm officially scared of you now. Should I call at a more convenient time?"  
  
"No, no problem, amigo. I'll just let you talk to my friend." He snickered and handed the phone to Dib.  
  
"Is this someone who's sane?" Telemarketer Bob said in a hostile tone.  
  
"Hey," Dib said, already quite annoyed, "paranormal investigation is a legitimate field of study."  
  
"I never said it wasn't."  
  
"Say. are you a yeti?"  
  
"No. No I'm not. I'm simply a dooky salesman trying to do my job."  
  
"You ARE a yeti, aren't you?"  
  
"No, I assure you that I'm NOT a yeti. Now please, will you buy my dookie?"  
  
"Hold on. Let me get my sister. She knows more about this." He gave the phone to Gaz, almost feeling sorry for the yeti who was to incur the wrath of his demonic sister.  
  
"Is this the decision maker of the house?"  
  
"Look, Mr. I just want to eat my pizza, play my GameSlave 2, beat Vampire Piggy Hunter XV, and NOT let your dooky get in my way. Let me have this or I'll make you wish I was never born."  
  
"Would SOMEONE please just say yes or no?"  
  
"Let me eat my pizza, or you will suffer horribly. Horrible. suffering."  
  
"Okay, you're at least the third person who's threatened me in ONE FRIKKIN' CALL. Could I please just have someone who will give me an answer?"  
  
Gaz took the phone from her ear, and gave it to Gir. "And now for the grand finale."  
  
"HEADLESS CLOWN! HEADLESS CLOWN!" Gir shrieked insanely.  
  
"Yeah. will you buy my dooky?" Asked Bob, wearily.  
  
"MUST OBEY THE TACO MAN."  
  
"What the hell?..."  
  
"LET'S MAKE BISCUITS! LETS MAKE BISCUITS!"  
  
"Umm. maybe later. First, will you buy my dooky?"  
  
"I SAW A SQUIRREL! IT WAS DOIN' LIKE THIS!"  
  
"Oh come on! Can someone just say yes or no?"  
  
"I'M DANCING LIKE A MONKEY!"  
  
The telemarketer broke. "Look," he said, sobbing, "I just wanted to sell my dooky. I didn't do anything to you. Just buy my poop!"  
  
"COWS ARE MY FRIENDS." Gir said eerily.  
  
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE!" screamed Bob, still crying. He then hung up. The Vasquez family then bawled with laughter at the revenge they had gotten on the soulless solicitor, and enjoyed the sugary goodness that they deserved. Probably because of word of mouth, no telemarketer ever called the Vasquez home again. 


End file.
